A Churn for the Worse (24 page)

A sound that wasn't much different than a clap . . .

Only it didn't stop.

“Oh. Wow. You know what? I'm not thirsty anymore.”

She swung her attention back to Jeremy and then froze as Martha's words flooded her thoughts once again.

“I heard a funny noise and did not answer his question . . .”

“I thought it was David with the dog. He claps when she does a new trick. But it was not David. He was not in the barn.”

And then she knew.

There was someone else.

Bracing her hands against Jeremy's chest, she shoved him backward so hard he tripped over a thigh-high table and fell onto his back, knocking a Bible and a songbook onto the ground beside him.

“Claire? What was that?” Jakob barked in her ear.

“Jeremy. Come get him,” she yelled as she ran through the door, onto the porch, and across the driveway as the clapping finally subsided. But it didn't matter. She knew who was responsible for that sound just as surely as she knew why.

Rounding the corner, she ran into the barn and stopped, her gaze traveling down the center aisle to the familiar
blonde now leading a not-so-happy Carly from her stall. “Stop!” she shouted.

Hayley's head snapped upward and into the path of the late afternoon sun streaming in through Carly's open window. Dropping her hold on the mare's lead, she swapped it for a metal rake and stepped forward. “You better turn around slowly and go right back to your farmhouse if you know what's good for you.”

Claire stepped closer instead, fisting her hands at her side as she did. “It was the two of you all along, wasn't it? He was sent to distract, while you searched the barns for”—she pointed at the wide-eyed horse standing behind the woman—“her.”

“You're pretty smart for an Amish chick,” Hayley snorted. “Pretty smart
and
pretty dumb.”

“And you, Hayley Wright, are a murderer.”

“Claire? Where are you?” Jakob shouted in her ear.

Hayley tried to shield the sun from her eyes but wasn't entirely successful. Instead, she stepped forward and blinked. “How do you know my name?”

Reaching upward, Claire pulled off her kapp and dropped it at her feet, the earpiece Jakob had attached to its inside landing on the top of her right boot.

“
Claire?
” Hayley hissed through clenched teeth.

“That's right.”

“If a shovel can get the job done, so can this.” Lifting the rake above her head, Hayley charged forward so fast and so forcefully, Claire banged into the side of a stall in her haste to escape. Steadying herself against the slatted wall, she looked back in time to see the metal rake coming at her head.

“No! Please!”

She closed her eyes and ducked, the quick move sending the metal rake crashing into the wall where Claire's head had been. Looking up, she saw Hayley rear back for a second strike only to drop to the ground under the weight of Jakob's body.

(TWO DAYS LATER)

Claire pulled Jakob's arms more tightly around her midsection and silently willed the warmth of his chest against her back to permeate the chill she'd been unable to shed since sharing Carly's true identity with Esther.

There had been shock at first, followed by tears, but in the end Esther had accepted reality, just as Claire had known she would. Still, standing there, beside Carly's stall, watching Esther's face as her beloved horse nuzzled Valerie, Claire couldn't get past the ache in her heart.

Yes, calling Valerie had been the right thing to do.

No, she wouldn't have kept Carrot Thief's whereabouts a secret even if she could.

But doing the right thing didn't always come without
pain. Anyone standing in Eli's barn at that moment, with a clear view of Esther's face, would know that to be true. Hannah's quiet cries from the other side of the barn only made things worse.

“So this Hayley person came across Carrot Thief where?” Valerie ran a hand down the side of her horse and then turned to face the people responsible for reuniting her with the animal.

Jakob's chin left its resting spot atop Claire's head. “Jeremy is actually the one who found your horse. His house isn't too far from the crash scene, and he found her limping around his yard the next day. He called his old high school chum, Hayley, and asked what he should do. She knew enough about horses to know they could turn a fast buck or two and so, after a little research, she steered him toward Weaver with the understanding she'd get fifty percent of whatever they offered.”

“So
that's
why Hayley had no problem going on Diane's field trip to Weaver's place . . . Because it was
Jeremy
who'd handled the actual sale and therefore she was in no danger of being recognized,” Claire mused, as much for herself as anyone else.

“That's right.” Jakob loosened his hold on Claire and came around, instead, to her side. “Shortly after that, Hayley got one of those between-issue email updates from a horse magazine she subscribes to.”

“
The Stable Life
,” Claire and Valerie said in unison.

Jakob nodded. “Sounds right. Anyway, Hayley realized that the horse Jeremy had found in his yard was Carrot Thief and that she was far more valuable—because of her
lineage—than what they'd gotten from Weaver. So they went back.”

“Only Carrot Thief had been bought by Eli and had become Carly.” She glanced toward Esther in time to see a ripple of pain shoot across the young woman's face. “And so their hunt began.”

“And a man died?” Valerie asked.

“Wayne Stutzman.” Jakob cupped his hand across his mouth, then let it slip slowly down to his chin. “Near as we can figure, based on the timing, Wayne must have come across Hayley in the barn while Jeremy was keeping the rest of the family busy in the house. He probably questioned her and she, feeling threatened, picked up a shovel and hit him. Sadly, it was a fatal blow.”

Valerie pressed her fingers to her own chin and closed her eyes briefly. “How awful! Did he have children?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?” Valerie echoed. “How will they manage?”

Eli unlatched the stall door and stepped inside with Carly. “My brother, Benjamin, is lending a hand. He'll see that Wayne's wife, Emma, and the children are well taken care of. It is his way.”

“Eli is right,” Jakob agreed. “As for Hayley, she was so set on finding Carrot Thief and so confident she hadn't been spotted she continued staying at Sleep Heavenly, the bed and breakfast owned by Claire's aunt, Diane Weatherly. Taking care not to raise too much attention, she hit one farm a day—sometimes two, using her camera as her ruse for moving around town. A camera she didn't even seem to know how to use, based on what one of my officers said.”

“But I saw her pictures!” Claire protested.

“You saw pictures she'd saved onto a flash drive to make it
look
like she was working. And it worked. No one was any the wiser.” Jakob turned back to Valerie and finished the story. “Unfortunately for Hayley, her chosen partner got a little greedy and started stealing money during his assigned post as lookout man. Chasing him down brought us—or rather,
Claire
, here—to Hayley.”

Valerie closed the gap between them to address Claire. “I can't thank you enough for everything you've done to bring Carrot Thief back to me. I had all but given up hope on ever seeing her again.”

Aware of the sudden weight of everyone's eyes, Claire did her best to acknowledge the woman's words with the closest thing to a smile she could offer at that moment. After all, none of this was Valerie's fault—she was as much a victim in this whole mess as Esther. “I . . . I take it your Carrot Thief is a good racer?”

Valerie laughed. “No. Not really. In fact, Carrot Thief has never won a race. She almost placed . . . once, but that's only because the horse in front of her stumbled.”

Squatting down beside the horse, Eli ran his hand down the animal's leg, speaking softly in Pennsylvania Dutch as he did.

“Eli has taken good care of Car”—Esther stopped, swallowed, and tried again—“
Carrot Thief's
leg. She is almost better.”

“I used ice and changed her bandages each day, but it is my wife who made your horse well.” Eli guided their attention back to the horse and the young woman she was
now nuzzling. “Carly loves Esther. It is as if she knows Esther is with child.”

Sure enough, the horse lowered her head from its resting spot alongside Esther's and gently nuzzled it against the growing mound beneath Esther's lavender-colored dress.

“My sister is the one thing Carly loves more than my root beer candies,” Hannah said between sniffles.

Slowly, step by step, Valerie returned to the stall, her full attention trained on her beloved Carrot Thief and a tear-ridden Esther. “Carrot Thief may not be a good racer, but she has always been an excellent judge of character. At one race, in New Jersey, she rebuffed the attempted pet of another horse's trainer. And by rebuffed, I mean
rebuffed
—as in nearly bit this man's hand off. I was positively mortified. I'd never seen Carrot Thief conduct herself like that.”

Esther whispered something in Carly's ear and then turned to look at the horse's rightful owner. “That does not sound like Carly.”

“I agree.” Valerie stopped next to Esther and lifted a gentle, reassuring hand to Carrot Thief. “Two days later, a local paper revealed that this particular man had been brought up on animal cruelty charges.”

Esther drew back. “I do not understand.”

“This man was mean to the horses in his care.”

“That is not right!”

Valerie looked from Esther to Carrot Thief and back again. “It was as if Carrot Thief sensed evil.” The woman grew silent as she returned to petting her horse. After
several long minutes, Valerie dropped her hand to the top of the half wall and readdressed Esther. “Likewise, Carrot Thief senses true goodness. It is why she loves you whether you are holding her favorite candy or not.”

Esther's throat moved with a swallow, but she said nothing.

“That is why,” Valerie continued, “I am certain this is where she must spend her retirement years.”

Claire sucked in her breath so quickly, so loudly, that Carrot Thief's head shot up. “I . . . I'm sorry,” she stammered. “Please. Keep going.”

“Carrot Thief isn't a racer. Not a good one, anyway.” Valerie smiled up at her horse. “Oh, don't get me wrong, she tried. Gave it her all each and every time. But she's really just a great big teddy bear—far more interested in people than in flowers and a fancy sash she can't read anyway.”

Eli and Esther traded confused glances, prompting Jakob to step forward, his arm around Claire's shoulders. “What are you saying, Ms. Palermo?”

“I'm saying I want Carrot Thief to live here, with Esther and Eli. I want her to have a chance to get to know their child and the many children that will surely follow.”

Esther brought her hands to her face, her gaze on no one but Valerie. “Y-you want us to keep your horse?”

“I want you to keep
your
horse, Esther.”

“M-my horse?” Esther repeated as Carly, again, nuzzled her stomach. “I cannot accept such a gift!”

“My business is racehorses, Esther. Carrot Thief—I mean, Carly—is not a racehorse.”

“But—”

“Will you and Eli take good care of her?” Valerie asked.

Eli rose to his feet and came to stand as close to Esther as the half wall between them would allow. “Yah.”

Wiping the back of her hand across her tear-soaked face, Esther echoed her husband's words with a simple, yet no less meaningful nod.

“Then this is where I want
Carly
to remain . . .”

“I'm sorry, could you, um, read that one more time, please?” Winnie Johnson rested her elbows on the edge of Charles Woodward's desk and willed herself to concentrate. “I've been a little scattered these last few weeks and I think my mind is playing tricks on me.”

For a moment she wasn't sure he'd heard, but, eventually, he nodded, cleared his throat, and began rereading from the semi-tattered paper in his hands.

“I, Gertrude Redenbacher, being of sound mind and body, do bequest my precious angel Lovey to my sweet neighbor Winnie Johnson. I'm sure, given time, Lovey will come to adore Winnie just as much as I have these last two years.” Charles glanced up, his tired eyes pinning hers. “Are you still with me, Miss Johnson?”

All she could do was nod, his focus shifting back down to the paper as she did. “Additionally, having never been
blessed with any children of our own, I also must bequest to Winnie, my late husband's beloved vintage ambulance. He may not have finished restoring it to its true original grandeur, but it runs and it will keep Winnie from having to walk to the bakery in the rain.”

Nope. Her mind wasn't scattered. She'd heard every last word exactly the same way the first go-round. Only this time, when the attorney's monotone delivery came to an end, it touched off an almost maniacal laugh track in her head.

“Miss Johnson? Are you alright?”

She glanced around the room, her gaze falling on a miniature bonsai tree on the corner of the man's desk. “Oh, I know what's going on here . . .” Without waiting for a reply, she reached over, parted each branch, and then moved on to a complete and thorough inspection of the soil in which the tree was planted.

No camera . . .

“Miss Johnson, I notarized Gertrude's wishes myself not more than six months ago.” Charles pulled the pot closer to his chair and brushed the disturbed soil back into place. “Her body was failing her, but her mind was sharp as a tack as you well know. This is what she wanted.”

“Wait.” She fell back against her chair, a new and different laugh making its way past her lips. “Mr. Nelson put you up to this, didn't he?”

“Mr. Nelson?” Charles parroted.

“Yes. Parker Nelson. My downstairs neighbor.” Suddenly, it all added up. Mr. Nelson was always playing tricks on her—whoopee cushions on her porch furniture, toy mice on her steps, even hiding her newspaper in a different place each day . . . She felt the smile spreading across her
face and didn't bother to hide it. “Okay, how'd he get you to do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Nelson. How'd he get you to read that one instead of the real one?”

Charles let her finger guide his attention back to the paper on his desk before he pushed his chair back and stood. Then, leaning across the polished mahogany surface, he pressed the intercom button on the side of his phone. “Susan? Could you please bring in Miss Johnson's items?”

“I'll be right in, Mr. Woodward.”

Releasing the button, he spun the paper around and scooted it across the desk to Winnie. “I'll need to keep the original, of course, but I'll see that Susan makes a copy for you before you leave. That way you don't have to worry about taxes on the vehicle in the event the government should ever question—”

A door opened behind her and she turned to see the same kind yet efficient woman who'd whisked Winnie into the attorney's inner sanctum within moments of her arrival. This time, though, instead of Gertrude's file and a mug of steaming black coffee, the secretary handed her boss a pair of keys and a brown and white tabby cat who promptly turned and hissed at Winnie.